Eden Burned
by survivor686
Summary: The Geth attack on Eden Prime was one of the most devastating battles ever experienced by humanity, until the Fall of Earth. In the space of twelve hours; heroes were forged, cowards were revealed and destinies collided, as geth, humans and turians fought over a single artifact that would decided the fate of civilizations. Starring: Ashley Williams, Jabob Taylor & Saren!
1. Introduction

"_The road to hell is paved with good intentions"_

_- Originated by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, circa 1150 AD)_

_Systems Alliance Base (SAB) – New Paris_

_New Paris_

_Eden Prime_

_0600 local time_

Ashley Williams' lungs burned as she started the final lap. Her heart pounded in her ears and her feet pounded the rubber floor as she pushed herself to her limits. Her eyes focused on the finish line which appeared so close and yet so far to her adrenaline-addled mind.

_Twenty Seconds left._ Twenty seconds to pass selection, twenty seconds to redeem herself, twenty seconds to get off this rock. Her heart began race as she poured every last remaining ounce of her will into her strides, as she began to speed up despite her exhaustion.

Finally she crossed the finish line, a wave of exhilaration sweeping over her as she held her hands high triumphantly. _She did it!_ Two miles within 9 minutes and…. She glanced down at the old-style chronometer strapped to her wrist. Formerly belonging to her father, she had inherited upon his death as he had from his own father. It was a Williams' tradition; to reject fanciful, new technology for rugged tech that had stood the test of time. In the dark hours of the night, the rugged old watch comforted, as it promised that whatever happened; the family tradition would always stand behind her.

But now, it merely taunted her. _Ten seconds_. Ten seconds over the minimum standard required to pass 'selection'. Ten seconds over the minimum standard set by the legendary "N-School".

Exhausted she slumped to the ground, her arms bracing to prevent her head from slamming against floor. Defeated and exhausted, she lowered her head to the floor, praying that no one would walk onto the track and see her moment of weakness.

_Why?_ Why was she doomed to be stuck on this planet? Why no matter what she did, fate conspired to keep her relegated to planet-side postings? Why whenever someone looked at her, they didn't see her but her family's tainted legacy.

A polite beep chimed from her chronometer and she glanced at it. _Time's up_. It was morning on this corner of Eden Prime and she had duties to perform. At least they trusted her with that much.

* * *

_Surrounding Forests_

_SAB New Berlin_

_Eden Prime_

Jacob Taylor ducked under hail of fire that cut across the field and then gestured once with his fist. A biotic aura materialized into existence around him and then solidified as a new hail of fire slammed into it.

Protected by a biotic barrier, Jacob sprinted across the field towards cover, as he pulled out his assault rifle. A drop of sweat crossed his bow, as the volume of fire increased and began to sap at his will. For all their so-called 'realism', the simultisms never did depict how truly taxing it was to maintain a biotic barrier.

Sliding into cover, he let out a gasp of relief as he mentally relaxed his concentration, finally allowing the biotic barrier to vanish from existence. His hands shook once and then stilled as his body recovered from the physical and mental strain of maintaining his biotics. They said that the asari commandoes' biotic made them the deadliest warriors in the galaxy. But Jacob hadn't survived so long, by being dependant on his biotics.

Grabbing a grenade from his bandolier, he peeked once over his cover and then chucked it. The cylindrical sphere arced above the boulder that sheltered him and then dove towards his opponents, whom were at that very moment trying to flank him.

Ducking away from the grenade, his opponents were able to avoid most of the electric blast from ripping them to shreds. But their manoeuvres left them exposed to Jacob's fire.

Leaning out of cover and then aiming down his rifle, Jacob fired a flurry of rounds that caught one of the individuals straight in the chest and then tore through his weakened kinetic barriers. With a cry one of the opposing soldiers fell to the ground, their weapon falling away from nerveless fingers.

But his buddy was quicker on the mark and chucked a grenade towards Jacob. Dodging the grenade, Jacob sprung from cover, his hands clenching once more as he summoned another wave of biotic energy.

The hairs on the back of his head rose, as his biotic implants surged with energy. A biotic orb shot towards his target and then enveloped them in blue energy. Struggling helplessly, his opponent was yanked from his feet and then towards Jacob.

Jacob let a small grin cross his face, as he savoured his victory. _He still had it._

Suddenly his back exploded in agony and he stumbled once and then crashed into the ground. A few metres in front, his opponent was suddenly freed from Jacob's biotic grip and was unceremoniously dropped into the dirt.

Jacob struggled to breathe, as he struggled for his sidearm. A new figure wielding a shotgun loomed menacingly over him, its shadow falling across his face. For a few seconds it aimed down its sights and then finally released a sigh.

"You're not going to try anything stupid are you?" It queried conversationally, as if they were sitting in a café.

Jacob grunted in defeat, as he relaxed and allow**ed** his nerves to recover from the short-range blast to his back. It was true what they said; training rounds didn't kill you, but they hurt like a bitch.

"Alright gents, endex." The figure tapped its omni-tool and then gestured at the others. Ahead of them, Jacob's formerly ensnared opponent, shakily rose to her feet and then staggered towards her buddy and helped him to his feet.

Jacob himself was pulled to his feet and finally he was able to regard Staff Lieutenant Richard Mansbridge in the eyes. A short, stocky man **who** hailed from Earth, Mansbridge had been assigned the task of evaluating Taylor after his Corsair assignment. A broad grin crossed his face, as he gave Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"There you go, Taylor." Mansbridge's cheerful voice hid that fact they had just taken out a biotically powered opponent, an occurrence that had that most regarded as impossible, "Nothing like a shotgun blast to wipe the sleep from your eyes, eh?"

Jacob merely groaned in response, as his tired body howled in protest. For the past six hours, he had worked his way through the forests of Eden Prime as Mansbridge's team pursued him. Armed with only his armour, rifle and his wits, Jacob had pushed his body to the limit in order to reach the final objective; a small ramshackle hut at the end of the field.

"How did I do?" Jacob couldn't help but ask. Ever since he had left the Corsair program, and requested a transfer back to Alliance Special Forces, he had been stalled by bureaucrats and suspicious officers whom suspected his loyalties. After all there were rumours that one of their own elite brethren had defected. To whom, no one knew.

Mansbridge's smile disappeared and he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Wash yourself up and then meet me in the pub"

* * *

_Virmire_

_1200 local time_

Saren Arterius stood perfectly still in the jungle clearing, his hands held contemplatively at his side. The air smelt rich and alive through his nostrils and the distant sound of avian animals and simians gave the entire tableau a sense of peace that he had sorely missed. Yet at the same time it reminded him of what he had to lose, if he failed in his task.

How long had it been seen those fateful days? Once upon a time, he had been an ambitious turian, eager to use his new position to ensure that the Turian Hierarchy maintained its role as the galaxy's defender of stability. Once upon a time he had believed in the righteousness of his cause, believed that it would forgive whatever methods he used to protect the galaxy. But now…the stakes were so much more higher, much higher than the Hierarchy or even the Council itself. No, what he was playing with, could determine the entire fate of life itself.

Something snapped in the trees that ringed the clearing and Saren's senses were instantly up. He was not alone. _Good_. He had work to do.

The lumbering krogan burst through the trees at Saren's rear, emitting a deep, bass roar that shook the ground beneath his feet. Towering at over eight feet, this bloodthirsty specimen was a fine example of his species' warmongering abilities. Relentless as the tide, strong as the mountains and imbued with enough bloodlust that would put the hyenas of Oma Ker to shame, the Krogan were the perfect race of warriors. But that did not make them _soldiers_.

Saren pirouetted on his foot and then ducked under the first shotgun blast, which came at him from ten metres away. Bereft of binocular vision that the turians enjoyed, the krogans preferred close-range weapons enhanced their brutality in such confines. It only enhanced their lethality, but it came at a cost.

Slipping out of the krogan's left field of vision and positioning himself in the gap between its two eyes, Saren charged towards the krogan, constantly shifting to remain between its two cones of vision, as he close the gap to five, three and then one metre. Moving its head from side to side, the krogan finally spotted Saren and fired once more, as he closed in for the attack.

This time, Saren let his synthetic arm, a gift from the geth, absorb the blast. His arm rippled in shock, but by then Saren was already moving. Lashing out with the same arm, he swiped shotgun from the krogan's hands and then clambered up the still moving beast.

With a furious bellow, the krogan dove towards the ground, seeking to crush Saren underneath its enormous, muscular bulk. But the Spectre was already moving. Grasping onto his opponent's massive head, he flipped himself over and then behind the krogan.

Even as his feet touched the ground, he lashed out once more. An armoured boot slammed into the back of the krogan's knee, sending the enormous beast toppling to the ground. Moving before the krogan could react, Saren's arms moved once more and pinned his opponent's arms behind its back.

It's gargantuan weight pinning it to the dirt and unable to use its powerful arms, the krogan struggled viciously as it tried to buck the turian off it. But Saren had not become the longest serving Spectre, only to be taken down by a mere krogan warlord.

Constantly shifting his weight to stay on top of the bucking krogan, Saren raised one arm and then jammed it into the back of the krogan's head. By nature, krogan hide rivalled the armour seen on most tanks, but Saren had just deployed a localised and very concentrated biotic warp field that began to tear apart flesh and bone.

After a minute of staying on top of the krogan, Saren decided he had put on enough of a show. It was time to end this little exercise. Raising his bionic fist once more, he slammed into the back of the krogan's skull. Synthetically enhanced musculature crushed its scales, shattered its bone and pulped its brain tissue.

Finally Saren rose to his feet, with nary a sweat creasing his brow, as the krogan's shattered skull leaked blood and viscera into the jungle soils of Virmire. Casting his eyes around, he patiently waited for his audience to reveal themselves.

Finally, the hulking figures of the spectating krogan mercenary band detached themselves from the shadows and moved into the sunlight. Standing at over eight feet at the minimum, some of these specimens dwarfed Saren's now deceased opponent. Yet Saren knew that a krogan battlemaster ruled through force of will and fear. He would have to set a good example.

One of the krogans approached him, glancing once at the remains of his leader. The second-in-command to his former battlemaster, he had not lifted his finger to aid his superior's personal duel with Saren. It was the krogan way; you solved your own problems.

A sly grin began to spread across the krogan's face as he nodded at the turian and Saren was once more reminded that the krogans placed little stock on civilized concepts such as honour or loyalty. Turning around to address his compatriots, he was still smiling as the high-powered slug tore through his hide and severed his dual nervous systems.

Now for the first time, the krogan's reacted as they glanced in shock and fear at the image of Saren coldly staring at them, as both their leaders lay dead at his feet. A high-powered pistol was held in Saren's hand as he regarded them and with dismissive snort he chucked it to the ground.

Each of the krogan had at least half a century's worth of combat experience, whether fighting in the dozen of brush-fire wars that plagued the Terminus systems or brawling in the confines of Omega, but seeing both their leaders killed so quickly and by a single turian, set them aback.

"That is the punishment for betrayal." Saren finally spoke, as his hard, metallic accent carried forward on the still air towards the krogan's ears.

Seconds passed and finally the remaining krogans began to nod in understanding. _Good_. Sometimes the best lessons were the one that didn't need to be spoken.

Marching forwards, he cut his way through the group of krogan, who parted before him, casting their eyes downward in submission. The krogan would be useful as tools for his plans for the galaxy. Plans that could very well save them all.

* * *

_This fic originally started out as a bed on the Ashley forums about whether we could publish a better story that Foundations #3. To that end, I have avoided the comic for the time being and am doing my own take on the Geth attack on Eden Prime. _

_Rate, Review and Subscribe!_

_Big thanks to for proofreading_


	2. Chapter 1

_If you do not create your destiny, you will have your fate inflicted upon you_

_William Irwin Thompson, Philosopher-_

_Systems Alliance Base (SAB) – New Paris_

_New Paris_

_Eden Prime_

_1200 local time_

Ashley Williams stood at attention in Lt. Commander Singh's office. Situated in the heart of _SAB New Paris_; the small, windowless office reminded Ashley of a prison cell, or at least how she imagined it to be.

Singh's brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the official letter that had appeared in his inbox; a formal letter from the Alliance admiralty, or at least some bureaucrat who claimed to speak for them, it had appeared in response to William's request.

"Gunnery Chief Williams," Singh began, before pausing. Gesturing her to the seat in front of his desk, he waited for her to sit down before continuing.

"Williams, I'd hate to think that you believe that the 212th Brigade is beneath you." Singh remarked, as he studied the marine in front of him.

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams had certainly made a name for herself amongst her fellow soldiers. The grandfather of the infamous General Williams, the only human ever to have surrendered to an alien force, she had weathered her fair share of criticism and prejudice, with grit and skill.

In any other division, Ashley skills would have been put to good use. But the 212th was not a space-borne division. Used as a training unit of sorts, its main purpose was to supervise and prepare marines for deployments on the borders of Alliance space and on the Navy's vessels. Singh had seen thousands of marines pass through and then pursue their careers amongst the stars. William's own group had passed through three years and she had been denied a ship-posting.

"No, Commander Singh." Williams quickly replied a flush appearing momentarily on her cheeks and then quickly disappearing away. "Just eager to put my skills to best use."

Every year, Williams tried her best to get accepted. Pushing herself through every possible test, her technical scores were amongst the best Singh had ever seen. Yet still she remained on Eden Prime.

Most people would have taken the hint and found a new, prosperous career outside of the Systems Alliance military. Instead Williams had put her head down and forged forwards. Quickly gaining a reputation as a tough-as-nails NCO, her platoon became noted its excellent combat-simulation performance.

"I'm going to cut straight to it, Williams." Singh replied, "Your application to space-borne duty was denied."

For a moment Ashley was silent and for the briefest of seconds, Singh wondered whether he was about to witness a very angry and very emotional outburst.

"I do not understand Commander." Ashley finally replied, heat rising, as barely concealed outrage rose to the surface "I passed every requirement, I aced the physical. I played their game of twenty questions. I gave them my CO's contact details. Why did they deny me?"

"I think you know,_ Williams_." Singh coldly responded.

For the briefest of moments, Ashley's mask slipped and Singh saw her true nature. Renowned for her firebrand nature, Ashley's face was now a patchwork of irritation, anger and_ despair_. But as quickly as it was revealed, it was quickly hidden away. As if it was a vulnerability not to be exposed to anyone.

"I…I understand." was her cold, emotionless response.

It pained Singh to see her like this, too see _anyone _like this. But if she didn't catch the hint this time, then she would be dooming her life to a service that didn't seem to care for her. He hoped that soon enough she would grasp the reality and accept an honourable discharge when it was offered to her.

Singh nodded, giving her leave. Lifelessly, Ashley got to her feet and headed for the door.

* * *

_Systems Alliance Base (SAB) – New Paris_

_New Berlin_

_Eden Prime_

_0300 local time_

Jacob Taylor made his way through the bar, towards the lone figure who sat in the corner. Catching the barkeep's attention he motioned for a glass of water to be served at the table.

Grasping Mansbridge's hand, Jacob was reminded that the Staff Lieutenant has spent the better part of the past five years as part of Task Force 21; the semi-permanent strike force of commandoes and recon specialists who roamed through the Terminus systems actively hunting down slavers and pirates. He should know, as a Corsair he had made his fair share of covert insertions and pickups of such operatives.

"So…" Jacob cut straight to the point "What was so damned hush-hush, that you couldn't tell me back on base."

A grimace crossed Mansbridge's face and he waited silently as the bartended left a jug of water and two glasses on their table and then left.

"Right off the bat, don't take this personally." Mansbridge uncharacteristically growled, as he poured himself a glass and then offered it to Jacob

Jacob held his tongue, as he accepted the proffered glass and then drank deeply.

Mansbridge was one of the oldest operatives still alive in the Alliance Special Forces. Old enough and stubborn enough to have fought in every major operation since the Liberation of Shanxi, Mansbridge was a small legend unto himself.

"Jacob I have to ask; why leave the 'corsairs'?" Mansbridge asked, a tinge of curiosity colouring his question.

It was a question Jacob had been asking himself, ever since that fateful day. He had joined the Corsairs because of the freedom it offered; the freedom to exercise his judgement and skills to protect humanity. If he was truly honest with himself, he wanted to live out his childhood fantasy of soaring through the stars with only his ship, his crew and his wits to protect him.

What he encountered instead was a bureaucratic exercise, wrapped up in layers of paranoia. He had no moral quandaries about inserting operatives into batarian controlled space in order to take out a Blue Suns training depot. He had no moral issues with conducting black market deals in some seedy corner of Omega, in order to gain some information on the next slaver raid on human planets.

No, he drew the line when he found that his 'handler' had decided to snoop through his personal bank accounts on the basest of suspicions. He drew the line when some 'suit', who had no business being in this line of work, decided that all Corsairs were to report in every twelve hours, no matter where they were.

If he had to be honest, he wanted to be able to stare at himself in the mirror and believe that he mattered, that he had made a difference. If he was truly honest, he wanted to be a _hero_. Or at least be counted as among those whom made the galaxy a safer place. And the Corsairs no longer offered that.

"Because, I'm tired..." Jacob wearily replied, as turned to stare out the window at the afternoon sunshine as it fell on the surrounding buildings.

"I'm tired of the bureaucrats whom want receipts for every damn expense. I'm tired of having some suit in a back-office demanding to know why I was at Omega on this date."

Mansbridge tutted disapprovingly as he tapped the table.

"The last thing anyone wants to hear, Jacob, is tired. Say peeved, say angry, hell even say _enraged_." Mansbridge replied back, a trace of venom in his voice "But don't give me this _bullshit _about being tired!"

It was clear that Jacob had struck a nerve and he held up hands in an attempt to calm the now irritated commando. It didn't work.

"You want to know tired Jacob?! Try twenty four hours constant observation on a batarian slaver camp. Try six hours of hiking through the wilderness on some backwater planet in Hegemony Space. Try two days of brawling with the SIU, krogan and every madman out in the terminus!" Mansbridge was now on full throttle, as he angrily berated Jacob.

"Try getting one hour of sleep only to find out that one of your mates is in the slammer because he got _tired _of kowtowing to the Council. Try that Jacob!" He finally finished, as he finally sat back in his seat.

The pair of them sat silently as they stared at everywhere but each other. Jacob had heard the rumours that one of their own had ended up behind bars after murdering a krogan mechanic whilst on leave. But he hadn't thought that it was one of Mansbridge's own.

"Hey Mansbridge, I didn't…" Jacob began, before being cut off with a gesture.

"I need someone to fill a spot on my team. A _permanent _spot. If you have the stomach for it, you're in it for the long haul." Mansbridge wearily interrupted him. "Chew on it for a week, Taylor. I don't care if you're Izunami's favourite. One week and that is final."

With that Mansbridge rose from the table and motioned at the bartender. Jacob glanced at the barkeep and nodded as well. He could use a drink.

* * *

_Firing Range_

_SAB New Paris_

_Eden Prime_

_1400_

_Crack! Crack! _The mark V Python sniper rifle recoiled into Ashley's shoulder, as she fired two shots at the paper-mache targets at the end of the outdoor range. This was simple. There was simply the target, there was her rifle and there was herself. No complexities, no politics, nothing to hold her back.

Ashley's finger's tightened on the trigger once more and rifle barked once more, sending rounds tearing through the tin paper and into the backstop.

_Beebebebebepp…_The rifle protested as its heat diffusers temporarily overloaded. Ashley cursed as she backed away from the overheated weapon and she mentally slapped herself for poor fire discipline.

She was better than this. She knew better than to make a rookie error. She knew better than the let her personal life affect her performance.

"Ashley Williams? An overheated rifle? Has the world ended?" A cheerful, cultured voice interrupted her mental tongue lashing and Ashley glanced towards the source of the wry observation.

Corpsman Nirali Bhatia walked onto the firing range with a crooked grin. A stocky native of earth, she was second platoon's corpsman, assigned to act as their combat medic. Entering under the deferred education plan, she was planning to save enough money to open a restaurant back on earth with her husband.

Nirali was one of the few members of second platoon who treated Ashley as an equal with no regard for her family's history. One of the few alliance soldiers who appreciated Ashley's tough discipline, the two had bonded over their shared love of classical poetry.

Nirali walked up to Ashley side and for a moment peered silently at the shredded paper-mache targets at the end of the firing range. Silently she reached forwards and depressed the button that reeled the target towards them.

Letting out a low whistle, Nirali shared her appraisal of Ashley's marksmanship. Five perfectly placed shots in the centre of mass. At nearly two kilometres away, those shots had hit the target hard and true. If it were an organic being, their kinetic barriers would have overloaded, their armour would have shattered and the chest would have been shredded by the first two shots. The other shots were just insurance.

"Heard they denied your transfer." Nirali suddenly spoke up, as she peered at the silent sniper rifle.

Ashley let out a sigh of frustration that had built up inside of her. After receiving the denial for a ship posting, she had spent the next two hours venting her frustration on the firing range. After the last sparring session she had taken in part in after being denied admission to officer cadet school, most fellow soldiers avoided her like the plague.

She knew her reputation on the base. She was Ashley "Mad" Williams. The marine with a chip on her shoulder and a fiery temper to match. The gunnery chief who had been passed over so many times, that her temperament resembled molten steel.

"Yeah…came up with some new bullshit reason to deny me." Ashley wearily replied, as she slumped to the ground. Resting her back against the bench, she forlornly stared out across the range.

It was time she admitted it. She was doomed to serve out the rest of her career on Eden Prime. It was a step up from her father's posting on Listening Post X19. But it was no place to exercise her skills.

She wanted a chance. God help her, she wanted an honest to god firefight. She wanted to show that a Williams does not back down from a challenge. That a Williams can shoulder their burden and more. She wanted the chance to stare at a turian and not feel a twinge of shame run up her spine as she imagined her grandfather meekly surrendering to their armies.

_She wanted redemption._

"Maybe…Maybe they want to ship you out with the rest of the platoon, instead." Nirali offered, as she tried to reassure Ashley, "You know, to maintain the unit cohesion…."

Ashley appreciated what Nirali was trying, but she knew the corpsman couldn't understand her family's burden. A quiet, unassuming, individual whose sole dream was to save enough money and open up a restaurant with her husband back on Earth, Nirali had no desire to gallivant across the galaxy or ride into battle as the heroic cavalry. No, Nirali never had to duck her head as officers glanced at her with barely concealed suspicion or disgust.

But Ashley would have given anything to swap places with Nirali. _Anything_.

"Yeah….maybe…"Ashley half-growled as she petulantly sulked, despite herself. She knew was acting like a child, but years of pent-up frustration threatened to bring tears to her eyes on that sunny afternoon.

An awkward moment of silence passed between the two friends, before Nirali held out a small, wrapped, box that she had been carrying with her. Holding it out towards Ashley, she motioned for Ashley to open it.

"I'm flattered, Nirali," Ashley quipped, as she glanced at the home-wrapped box "But my mom will kill me if I marry a 'squabbie'."

Nirali snorted derisively, as she began to unwrap the box's packaging. Finally she opened the box to reveal an assortment of pastries. A gift from her chef-trained husband, Bhatia's home-care packages had earned the envy of the rest of the platoon, who had to make do with base's abysmal culinary skills.

"Don't tell me…"Ashley began, as she stared greedily at the pastries which gleamed invitingly at her.

"Samesh claims, that these are 'better than sex'" Nirali explained as she invitingly held out the sweetmeats for Ashley's choice.

"Ok…maybe not exactly…" she hurriedly added, as Ashley eyebrows cocked at the image of straight-laced Samesh using such intimate terms in such casual conversation.

But still Ashley appreciated the gesture and she reached into the box. Picking a pasty, white ball that glistened with sweet syrup; she popped into her mouth and chewed experimentally, as Nirali stared expectantly at her face.

"So…what do you think?" She finally asked, as Ashley worked her way through the incredibly sweet and amazingly delicious pastry.

"Leave the box with me and you'll get a full, written review…"

The pair of them chuckled in the lazy afternoon on Eden Prime.

* * *

_Outskirts of New Paris_

_Eden Prime_

_0400 local time_

"For the last time Manuel" Dr Warren wearily began, as the eager assistant scanned the ground with a makeshift sensor, "We've already been over this spot, it's time to move on..."

"_You've_ been over this spot, doctor." Manuel's reedy voice interrupted her as it floated out of the shallow hole that had been dug into the ground "But trust me there is something here, I can _feel _it."

"Oh lord…."Someone grumbled, even as Warren shot him a disapproving look. Though she had to admit, she shared some of the team's impatience with Manuel's antics.

She had remembered the first time meeting Manuel, in the University of Mumbai's laboratory. She recalled thinking that nature had made a mistake and had given a man's body that personality of a mouse. A nervous, unstable mouse.

But Manuel had grown on her and she had learned that the man was a wellspring of hidden talents. A mechanical genius with a latent skill for spotting hidden clues that most missed, Manuel had become a key part of her Prothean research team.

But such genius came at a cost. Nervous around crowds and possessing on obsessive desire to account for every detail, Manuel could be _trying _sometimes. Thatwas now.

"Manuel…"She began to talk soothingly, something she had learned would coax him away from one of the obsessive fads, "there are plenty of other sites we need to get to, the codex…"

"Found it!" Manuel's voice exclaimed triumphantly, as high-pitched beeping began to emanate from the shallow hole. Seconds later Manuel's face appeared as he scrambled up the sides of the hole.

"Found what?" Someone snapped from the back of the assembled group.

"I found it!" Manuel simply repeated, with all the insistence of a child, as he waved his makeshift instrument in front of Warren's face.

"Manuel…" Warren began, a trace of irritation working it way through her voice.

"I used Dr. Sun Ling's paper on ionizing effects of trace element zero on organic matter and…"

"Manuel. Get. To. The. Point." Warren snarled, as she emphasized each word, something she had learned would get Manuel to focus.

Manuel suddenly stiffened as his mouth worked silently for a few seconds. A minute passed and Manuel finally continued, this time in a more orderly fashion.

"There is _considerable _evidence that the artefact is down there, Dr. Warren." He began, with all the gravity and confidence that a PhD in astrophysics and chemistry should have had, "The soil and organic matter show _significant _traces of ionizing radiation consistent with long-term exposure to pure element zero."

"Impossible." Someone from the assembled team spoke up and a part of Warren had to agree. If there was an eezo source their instruments would have picked it up, not Manuel's cobbled together device.

But Manuel was already shaking his head, as if he were educating an ignorant child.

"The instruments are calibrated for_active_prothean devices. The one that the codex on Mars pointed out may have powered down in order to save energy."

Dr. Warren could only stare, as her mind grasped the subtleties that Dr. Manual Cayce had managed to latch onto. _How could they have been so stupid! _They had been scanning for active eezo signatures! But the beacons found on Mars had been connected to a pre-existing infrastructure. For all they knew, the one here on Eden Prime could be a lone artefact which had powered down in order to save energy.

"Harding." Warren began to snap out orders, in a tone of voice that indicated that she was in no mood to argue, "Recalibrate the instrument to scan for traces of _ionizing _radiation and sweep the area again."

"That would take at least six hours, Doctor and our lease ends in…" Harding began to protest, before Manuel interrupted him.

"I could do it in one!" Manuel was positively beaming as he realized that Warren had accepted his finding.

"Okay then…Take _Doctor _Cayce and get started." Warren finished, even as Manuel had already dashed off towards the tent where they kept their instruments.

"What about the colonial administrators?" Someone else pointed out, even as the group began to disperse to go over the site once more.

"Let me handle them." Warren confidently replied, even as she activated her omni-tool and opened a line towards the colony's governor.

If Manuel's hunch was on the money, soon Warren's team would above the concern of mere colonial governors.

* * *

_"Dreadnought"_

_Perseus Veil_

Saren Arterius leaned back in the uncomfortable seat the geth had created for him in the heart of the dreadnaught. Deadly machines of war, the geth may be, but experts in Turian physiology they were not. With cushioning in all the wrong places and with a wrap-around design that cut off his peripheral vision, Saren would have preferred a rock to sit on.

Still the geth hadn't been able to conceal their glee once they had figured out his role as a 'prophet' and the chair had come as part of a package deal with the arm. And like the synthetic arm, perhaps the chair would come to grow on him.

Finally deigning to glance up, Saren took note of the pair of geth who stood obediently at his side, eager for new orders and Matriarch Benezia who deliberately stood opposite them.

The two geth were merely there to show those synthetic abominations that he considered them a vital part of his team, though he suspected that their artificial minds were swooning in delight at being so close to their _prophet_.

Matriarch Benezia on the other hand, maintained her carefully cultivated neutral expression. Serving as his advisor and second in command, she had originally hoped that her original role as his confidante and sometimes lover would sway him away from his purpose. But the purity of his cause had showed her the light and now the Matriarch used her connections and power to aid his quest to save the galaxy.

"You are sure of this?" Saren rasped, as he stared at the Matriarch.

"I am sure." Benezia simply replied as she stared back at the deadly spectre without a hint of anxiety.

Most sapients went out of their way to avoid the spectre, whose career had involved the death of hundreds of beings. But Benezia was different. She knew that foundations of civilization rested on those who were willing to use whatever means necessary in order to ensure its stability. And so she had sought Saren out. First to use him as a tool and then as a partner to ensure that the asari species would live to see another day.

The two geth warbled in response and Saren knew he was receiving the thoughts of an entire connected conscious.

"No, this does not change our plans." He conversationally replied, as he casually examined his talons. "It merely accelerates it. Have your strike forces on standby."

"You mean to physically take the artefact? In person?" Benezia asked, even as the geth were already transmitting Saren's orders to the rest of their brothers.

Catching the barest hints of irritation on Benezia's face, Saren allowed a ghost of smile to cross his maw. He knew that the matriarch and her commandoes were galled at the casual dismissal most of the geth gave to them. Accustomed to being the centre of attention, as most asari were, the fact that a synthetic robot treated them as tools not as comrades served only to irritate them. Something that never failed to amuse Saren.

"Yes. Benezia." Saren growled, as he unflinchingly stared into her eyes as dreadnaught began to rumble around them, "I intent to take possession of the beacon. By. Any. Means. Necessary."

* * *

_Once again big shout out to for proofreading this chapter!_

_Jacob makes mention of his serving on Eden Prime, but we never hear more about it. Also given the infrastructure we see in game, I imagine Eden Prime to be a low-level, last-stage, training/deployment area for marines. With the exception of two bases and a few scattered settlement Eden Prime is pretty much an untouched world. More of an agrarian colony, more than anything else. _

_I also imagined the 212 to be some sort of low-level training unit, before it musters marines out. _

_Don't forget to rate and review!_


End file.
